Places of Origin
by lady winde
Summary: On hiatus. Vincent finds himself back to where his nightmares began thirty years ago. When a fallen candle pushes him to do the unthinkable, the weight of his guilt is lifted and for the first time since his awakening is he ready to finally live. VinTi
1. Prologue: The Inevitable Omega

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or the characters that may or may not appear in this story. These belong to Square-Enix and them alone.

**Places of Origin**

By Lady Winde

**The Prologue: The Inevitable Omega**

_With every beginning there comes an end. Such is life and how it should be._

Vincent Valentine slid a solitary finger along the surface of the piano keys, crimson eyes following the clear path that was cut through the thick dust. The loud drums of thunder echoed through out the dark mansion, their cries and shouts barely showing an interest to the lone figure in the candle-lit room. He wasn't going to allow the roars and rumbles to interrupt his thoughts, no matter how loud their cries demanded to be acknowledged.

His eyes slowly closed, dark lashes showing the contrast of his pale skin; was he trying to unlock a lost memory buried deep within the confines of his person? Lost in thought, the single key his finger had rested upon slowly fell, sinking until that one note triggered it all. Mechanically his fingers moved along the ivory slabs. First one and then the other. With each key pressed a lock was then twisted and open.

The shadows twirled and fluttered to the melancholic melody, the sort of guests he was most familiar and comfortable with. Better them than the unyielding darkness of a coffin where the nightmares chose to inhabit. They watched the man silently, only to disappear briefly to hide from the harsh lightning that danced outside.

Scarlet eyes were slowly revealed as the song continued to probe the air as if searching for others to listen. There was a time long ago when the Shinra Mansion, the very house whose walls surrounded him, was maintained, every room was cheerfully illuminated to match the cozy atmosphere the rooms were welcome to provide, and when the guests who would frequent were of the utmost importance they required the assistance and protection provided by Shinra's very own Turks.

There were parties only the rich could attend, the jubilance and the extravagance of such events did well to hide the dark secrets that the building held deep below its basements. All was faded away through the stretch of time and the large mansion was a testament to that final truth. Nothing could escape. Except for Vincent Valentine.

His fingers slowly came to a stop, the tune faded from the air and memory as his attention was turned to the large murky windows, their tattered drapes covered in dust. An unexpected screech echoed as he pushed the bench away from the piano, the sudden movement sent a small cloud of dust to swirl around his feet as he walked to his intended destination.

The obnoxious thunder had stopped, perhaps annoyed that they were ignored by the former Turk, and the rain had finally softened in its downpour. Vincent raised his leather clad hand, wiping away the caked grime with a single swipe. There was something that had been troubling him, though it barely showed on his brow.

Why had he returned to the accursed mansion?

Perhaps it was the only logical choice to those that had observed him. There was even a possibility that through out their gossipy speculation even he had begun to believe it. Why else go back to the place that was not only a monument of what could be called his own death but also where the planet's path to almost utter destruction had been paved and... born. And he didn't need to be reminded of the coffin...

Vincent continued to stare out onto the deserted streets of Nibelheim, his breath formed a slight mist on the pane of glass. Save for the rain, there was only silence. His shoulders sagged beneath his crimson cloak as his low exhale formed a cloud of misty breath. He turned back to look into the abandoned ballroom, standing in the absolute hush the room could only provide.

This was a place for broken memories; things that were meant to be buried and locked up, never to resurface again.

A swift change in the gunman's chosen lighting jerked him out of his silent musing, forcing his attentions to a blossoming fire feasting off of the dusty cloth that coiled around a rusted candleholder. Below the scarlet cloth that carelessly wrapped his head, red eyes absorbed the glow of the growing flame as they observed in awe.

In but a few moments the flame spread along the mantle, the dust and scattered papers along the rotted wood welcomed the purifying heat. Vincent remained leaning against the grimy windows, a slight smirk playing along his lips.

"So..." His soft voice finally choosing to join the crackle of the burning that filled the air, "It happens at last... What was born of nightmares and madness will finally..." He pushed himself from the wall as he reached beneath his cloak, "burn to ash..."

This house was not to be his place of stay after all. Not that he minded.

His hand finally reappeared as Vincent stalked out of the room, the Fire Materia sparkling in his grasp. With a clear objective Vincent Valentine dedicated himself to the task at hand. The gunman ignored the freakish creatures, no doubt twisted experiments broken free from their cages, which shrieked about in confusion and alarm as the smoke traveled through out the dark house.

As he entered the room a gentle breeze caressed his form, tugging at the tips of his hair and cloak. A hint of determination played along his usually impassive features as he neared the secret entrance to the basement responsible for the birth of the darkest nightmares imaginable.

His clawed hand felt along the dust-caked bricks, the leather beneath the metal talons searching and probing for the key to the underworld that lay beneath his feet. With a sudden push and twist the path was abruptly opened, a rotten smell began to radiate from the passageway. Ignoring the unpleasant stench he continued onward, making his way through the web filled halls and fallen rotted beams.

As he walked through the lair of nightmares and darkness he couldn't help but think of the irony. He had originally come to the building, confused and almost ready to take up residence at this "abandoned" estate. Only fate had pushed him to this impulsive decision, and really only she had to provide was but a simple nudge.

There wouldn't be a soul alive that would be sad to see the building burn to ash, and there wasn't anyone more fitting than Vincent Valentine to toss the lighted torch. Awkward creatures gnarled and growled as the man made his way to the library and lab: the most important rooms in all the building that _had_ to be burned.

As the ex-Turk reached the desk at the center of the library, he paused as he took in the surrounding area. Shades from the past stirred from within his buried memories. Unblinking eyes took in the vision of a ghost of a woman sitting at the edge, hurriedly flipping through pages of a thick book that rested beside her hip.

A slender hand reached up to move a tendril of chestnut colored hair from her rosy cheeks. Just as she looked up she seemed to recognize Vincent. But she wasn't looking at him... Her gaze pierced through his being, looking at someone who hadn't stepped a single foot into book-filled room in thirty years. As a bright smile adorned her features she was suddenly gone with a flash. Lucretia and the book had disappeared.

Vincent closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath, slowly letting his chest rise against the weight of the deep scarlet cloak. There was a reason why he had avoided trekking down the lab. Steadily the man raised his gloved hand, the green orb twinkling with life as it was held tightly within his grasp.

"Farewell Lucretia."

With but a flicker of a thought, hot fire leapt from the materia setting the various tomes ablaze. His wrist carefully aimed at the feet of the various bookcases. He couldn't help but feel the twitch in his lips as he thought just what Hojo would do if he knew all his research would be burnt to ash.

His body suddenly jerked, a cough wishing to escape his lungs as the thick smoke from the fires billowed in thick clouds around him. Just how long had he been staring at the fires?

Before another moment could escape him, Vincent pulled up the thick collar of his cloak over his face as he pivoted on the heel of his boot to make his escape. His eyes were beginning to burn and his lashes were wet with the tearing that began to form, he bit back an oath as he continued onward.

His feet however abruptly halted at the feet of the lab. The very lab where he was murdered and created. Vincent's metal gauntlet shielded his face from the powerful blast as the materia was activated once more.

Perched on the edge of a rooftop a solitary figure watched the once proud building burn through out the dank night. The dark lashes lowered themselves as a raspy sigh was finally released, the gunman falling back with exhaustion. The moon, along with silver lined clouds that hugged her possessively, was there to greet him as he opened his sore eyes once more. With the dark smoke that climbed the air, trying to mingle with the atmosphere, Vincent swore that in that precise moment he had never seen a night's sky more beautiful.

The faint sound of rotted wood could be heard through out the vacant town moaning as it was about to break. It was as if the house was crying out in pain, the sort of panic one would expect from someone desperately fighting to stay alive.

"Just die... fade into the memories where you belong," Vincent's whisper flew from his lips and was carried along the wind. As if on command, a part of the house collapse, the shattering of glass and the roar of the fires pierced the air.

With its sinister secrets, the once proud Shinra Mansion and her memories was burned and finally put to rest. There where no more research notes on Hojo and Gast's findings, there were no more reminders of the beauty that once accompanied them. With each wall that fell so did the chains that had held Vincent Valentine down.

He was finally free as it were, but a sudden thought flickered through his tired mind. Just where was he to sleep?


	2. Chapter 1: Hard and Sweet

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or the characters that may or may not appear in this story. These belong to Square-Enix and them alone.

Author's Note: - I would like to thank Miss IceyCold for her most wonderful friendship. You've given me much inspiration and have been a great help with my usual writer's block. I would also like to thank my reviewers for giving me the inspiration to continue on. To be truthful I was a little afraid to take on this project with what sparse time I have. (Holidays be damned shakes fist violently in air) I hope you all enjoy this story as it is updated from time to time (though the hiatuses will be large, I do apologize in advance).

- I've chosen to use the "!#$" whenever Cid curses. It just seems so unnatural to me to actually know what the heck he was saying. Hehe... Old habits die hard. Whee...

- Also! Much to my surprise Tifa's last name is indeed _Lockhart_ not Lockheart. A look behind the official Vincent Valentine toy box (ahem action figure... ) and a trip to Square-Enix's website did much clarifying much to my dismay... All those years... misled! So wrong! Why? -sob-

**Places of Origin**

By Lady Winde

**Chapter 1: Hard and Sweet**

_To search for the sweetest tonic... you have to prepare for that 'hard kick' in the mouth._

Vincent Valentine took in the scenery before him as he gently pulled back on the leather reins, signaling his crimson feathered chocobo to slow its rather fast pace. An ocean of tall grass gently rocked against the tender breeze with the sapphire crown of heaven hanging overhead, finding amusement that the clouds had not dared to tarnish the skies. There was hardly a creature, or monster, in sight save for the lone snake weaving in and out through slender blades of emerald as its tongue tickled the air before it.

Since the burning of the Shinra Mansion, the ex-Turk had found himself on a journey of sorts. It wasn't the kind of soul searching expedition most had found themselves half-in after the almost certain doom meteor had unleashed upon the world. No, Vincent had found himself feeling restless, taking on the role of wanderer curious to see how those were coping. He had often wondered how many actually knew just how close their mortality was to being hushed beneath the weight of twisting rocks and blasting winds.

He had often found that there were many who simply just didn't care.

As far as taking permanent residence in any of the towns he had come across, it had never seemed like a viable option. Cid and Shera had offered to take the solitary man in when he was traveling through Rocket Town. When he declined, Vincent was quite grateful that the "anything but tactful" pilot didn't cause an awkward scene like the energetic Princess of Wutai, Yuffie, had. He contained not a single desire to relive that atrocious nightmare yet again.

Even though he declined their well intentioned invitations it was never meant as an act of ill will. He just wasn't ready. Even if he hadn't a place to stay, he did find a temporary solace within the shadows of the Sleeping Forest. However he was far from those haunting woods which seemed to be full of nothing but whispers from the past for those willing to listen and there was one last friend he needed to visit.

His brow furrowed beneath the scarlet bandana as his red eyes scanned the distant horizon, looking for the tell tale signs of civilization. Hidden lips tightened with a slight determination. It would be a few more hours before he reached the relatively peaceful town of Kalm.

oOoOoOoOo

The weary chocobo cooed softly as Vincent's gloved hand gently stroked through fiery feathers. With half lidded eyes, the ex-Turk's steed settled down into the comfortable bed of hay, the poor thing, fighting valiantly against the urge to succumb to peaceful slumber. Vincent's tender caresses weren't helping the stubborn bird remain wakeful and within a few moments the creature's head dipped, a low sigh escaping its beak...

"Sleep while you can, my friend..." The shadow of a whisper fell upon deaf sleeping ears; a hint of a sympathetic smile played upon Vincent's concealed lips as he continued. "Our journey is not over and will not be for quite some time..."

With a swift pivot of a heel that sent scarlet tattered fabric fluttering in the air, Vincent left his chocobo in Kalm's stables to search for a place to unwind his own tired limbs.

Vincent chided himself, a little frustrated he had allowed an aggravated sigh to escape. He hated the feel of uneasy eyes upon him as he traveled. He wasn't all that different when compared to the next person... much. Perhaps this was the reason he never ridded himself of the large cloak that currently draped over his shoulders and masked his face. He wasn't one to show off his own persona... or was he?

His metal-claw covered fingers flexed dramatically, letting the light dance along the polished metal for added effect.

Vincent smirked freely beneath the mask of fabric as a few gasps could be heard. The ex-Turk had noticed the slow change in his usually aloof behavior since the burning of that damnable building. Was that all it took? Perhaps it was the symbolic nature of the act. In some ways it was as if it allowed a clean slate. He felt almost human, almost... normal.

It would certainly explain his aggravated behavior and his questionable urge to give them something to talk about. The certain notion to suddenly transform into the "Galian Beast" was something to be entertained. Common sense, thankfully, kept such thoughts in check.

His pace slowed as his crimson gaze leisurely rose to meet the shaky luminance that buzzed just ahead his unsure path. The dirty neon tube lights held his attention briefly before Vincent finally decided to enter "The Dirty Hammock." It wasn't going to hurt to get a drink... and there was the slight chance that the last of his friends was employed. She had been a bartender before the crisis of the world after all.

The stale smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, causing his lip to curl slightly in repugnance, the stench reminding him of Captain Highwind and his particular habit. Suspended in the air were a few fans, their unclean blades lazily turned hardly causing a stir in the fog of smoke.

Lit candles were spread through out the bar; their tiny dancing orbs of light added a curious dream like quality to the atmosphere. Patrons sat scattered about, drinking their poisons for whatever their reasons may be: death, regret, lost love, or boredom. Each person was there for a particular cause or two not that it was any of his business to figure out why. No one seemed to be in any sort of a celebratory mood that was for certain.

Vincent Valentine slid atop a barstool, a certain spot away from those huddled over the bar. The barmaid behind the counter sent an appreciative wink the gunman's way, giving her hips a seductive sway as she walked over to the solitary Vincent. She conveniently dropped her damp cleaning rag beside the ex-Turks hand, taking her time as she slowly massaged the already clean counter.

"So..." she gave her voice an extra lilt hoping to catch some sort of interest from Vincent who chose to simply hold his attention toward the row of liquor bottles lined along the back counter. "What'll be your poison, stranger?"

Vincent merely tossed an unapproachable glance her way, a little irritated by her all too obvious behavior. He never did care too much for that kind of woman. "I want something..." His low monotone voice stopped short as he considered his choices carefully, "hard and sweet..."

The bartender raised an inquiring eyebrow as she stepped back to look over what she had, "I'll see what I can do..." She tossed the ex-Turk a flirtatious wink along with a quick pucker to the air. "I'll try and add a little something special... just for you."

"Please don't," he briskly whispered into the collar of his cloak.

The pads of his leather clad fingers lightly tapped against the counter as he patiently awaited his vague order. Watching the woman worry over what do with what she had lined up bottle to bottle triggered a memory, thankfully it was pleasant in its nature.

oOoOoOoOo

With careful silent footsteps, Vincent Valentine descended the carpet covered stairs of Rocket Town's only inn. His hand slid along the rail as he stared at the pictures lined against the wall. They were but simple memories of things that had happened in the world within the last thirty years.

Vincent's impassive stare lingered from frame to frame with each step he took. Everything was so strange to him, the fashion of clothes the people now wore, and the technology that had advanced... he wouldn't even try to pretend to understand the true functionality of the PHS.

It had been only two days since he joined Avalanche, awoken from such a long tortured slumber... and already he found it a daunting task to absorb everything in.

The antique lamp that stood in the corner of the room gave the lounge a golden glow, its soft light making sure to comfort those who would welcome it. With arms warily folded beneath his scarlet cloak, like a ghost, he made his way to the lamp. The stranger that stared from the reflection of the glass lampshade unnerved him: the pale skin that had lost its healthy glow, deep crimson irises that were no longer the dark wells of amber, and the long tousled ebony locks that were messily wrapped within the scarlet bandana...

The talons that dug into his arm were pitiless to remind him of the metallic gauntlet that was eternally and cruelly implanted onto his left arm. Just as the unwanted thoughts of Lucrecia and the experiments were about to plague his suffering mind, the slightest whisper of movement from the side of the room sent him on alert.

The tick tock of the near by grandfather clock held no protest when the faint humming began to fill the air. Curiosity slowly washing away the uneasiness from the gunman's tensed limbs, the carefree melody seemed to be intriguingly tinged with a hint of melancholy. Before he knew it, Vincent found himself involuntarily drawn to peer over the closed bar counter, the point in origin of the low melodic hum.

A woman was crouched on the floor shuffling through bottles, picking up one then placing it down to search for another. Perhaps it was his shadow that gloomed over her, but for whatever reason she looked back...

As quickly as the barmaid could she jumped back, fighting off the sharp intake of breath that caused her frame to shake so, "O-oh my god!" The bottle she was handling dropped to the floor rolling idly to the metal-toe of her boot.

_Clink_

Stoic red stared impassively into startled cinnamon. "...Hello Miss Lockhart..."

Her mouth fell open, wobbling to try and say anything her poor petrified mind could conjure, finally with a shudder she wearily regained her composure. An unsteady sigh escaping her coral colored lips. "Honestly," her words were desperately trying to seek confidence, "you can't sneak up on people like that. It's just... it's just rude!"

Had he been Vincent of the Turks, of the past, he would have leaned on the counter with a soft smile adorning his handsome face, shifting his weight in posture allowing just enough movement to permit ebony locks to glide against the skin of his cheek. Amber eyes would dance with delight as he would hold her gaze captive in a trance. Perhaps letting suave and sure words to both woo and calm his poor victim.

Instead... old habits apparently were easy to shoot and stuff into a coffin. It seemed only the obligatory words were necessary. "...You have my apologies."

Tifa's eyes fluttered shut as she nervously waved her hand in the air, as if hoping to dismiss the inert awkwardness away to never return. "Its fine, its fine..." She allowed herself to lean against the counter, her gloved arms hugging her frame allowing bored fingers to play with the slightly frayed hem of her shirt. "Just don't do it again..." She peered up into his face, a slight look of confusion glazing her eyes. "Mr..? I'm sorry I don't think Cloud introduced us with Barret and me waiting to rendezvous with you guys here. So uhm... You are?"

He was almost disappointed that word of his joining the ragtag group of misfits hadn't been properly addressed. With a curt nod of his head, the Ex-Turk made his introduction. "Vincent. Vincent Valentine."

Tifa's brow furrowed in amusement, her cheek dimpled as her grin spread, finally feeling at ease. "Vincent Valentine?" She couldn't help but chuckle, Vincent however could only arch an inquiring eyebrow to her queer behavior as he stood before her. With a tilt of her head, chocolate tresses spilled over one shoulder as her eyes playfully regarded the gunman. The brawler barmaid couldn't hide her enjoyment as she continued, "That almost sounds a bit too romantic for a name."

"...Too romantic?" the words echoed breathlessly between his dry lips. Vincent's aloof gaze was torn from the girl's, finding it comfortable to hover over the polished wood of the bar. There had been another woman who had made a similar comment many years earlier. Comments aside, Vincent found himself still unable to understand why there were those who simply couldn't just take what they had heard for what it was. He happened to like his name. It had a nice rhythm to it when spoken out loud.

Her peals of laughter were full of delight, soft and welcoming to those that were listening. Nimble fingers pushed back stray hairs behind her ear, the reflecting light of her dangling earring caught the gunman's attention, "Never mind Vincent...," Her smile was almost contagious. "How'd you know my name anyways?"

"I met Yuffie and Aeris already..." The meaning in the statement wasn't entirely false. He had actually heard her name in a conversation that was believed to be held in private between the supposed ex-Soldier and flower girl while exiting the Shinra Mansion. Only when Aeris and Yuffie were reunited outside had the gaps and holes been conveniently filled in.

A slight wave of annoyance washed over her features. Was she... disappointed? "Ah well... heh that _would_ explain it; and here I thou-" The chimes of the nearby tower of a clock rudely interrupted her words; letting the only two in the area know that it was now three in the morning. "Well so much for making a quick drink before bed," Vincent could easily read the resignation woven between her words.

He could hear her heels drag a bit along the floor as she came out and around the bar, leaving Vincent alone to ponder his choice and reasons for joining their group. When his thoughts were once again teetering towards the unpleasant the now familiar feminine voice broke him out of his reverie.

"Hey... I don't know what your reasons are for joining or whatever but don't look so down." Vincent simply replied with a cold stare. She would never understand the gravity of what the experience of his past was. He would by no means be able to live on like it never happened. It just wasn't his way. "Ouch, if looks could kill...," he could hear the nervous chuckle escape her.

The gunman tore his gaze away from the woman once a tinge of hurt seemed to sparkle in her eyes, perhaps it wasn't fair to react that way. "You have my apologies..."

He was presented with a warm smile, such a genuine and pure thing that it was. It seemed rather odd that it was directed at him. Then again no one else was around. "You talk so proper," Vincent merely raised an eyebrow at the comment, "Hey, well with whatever's bothering you I've been known to make some drinks that could make a man forget his troubles if but for a few moments... Hmm, well how about this," He could hear the toe of her boot try to worm its way into the carpet. Was she nervous? "Whenever we get some free time I'll make you one of my specialties. I uh don't have a name for it just yet but it's ah well... I guess some people would say hard and sweet."

Her words were full of the promise, something as far as he could read between each syllable, she meant to keep. The dip of his head forced a few waves of ebony to cascade over the rim on his bandana, hiding what was left of his already hidden face. "That would be nice... Thank you Miss Lockhart."

oOoOoOoOo

The fleeting memory gently tucked itself away into the many shadows that mingled inside Vincent's already foggy past. Tifa... A metallic tip of one of his talons lightly traced the edge of the mug he had been served while lost in his reverie.

Perhaps there was more reasoning behind his decision to visit her last after all.

Sooty lashes fell as his gaze lowered to the contents of the glass, failing to push back the girlish promise a friend had made two years prior. Just what was Tifa Lockhart to him?

His analytical thoughts were at work as he considered the question. First and foremost her obvious strength and skill as a warrior came to mind. Despite appearances, she wasn't the frail woman some would be led to believe.

Vincent could remember a time when they were forced into battle with one of the larger creatures that dared to roam the plains of their world. With careful precision his bullet screamed across the air, tearing flesh and shattering bone, proving to the rest just how deadly his marksmanship could be.

With a confident tip of his head he had briskly turned around, walking away only to be stopped by a shriek of alarm. Just as he turned around, ready to spring back into action he had found himself suddenly frozen in mid-step at the sight before him.

Just as the behemoth of a thing was about to crush a fallen Aeris, Tifa had dashed to her friend's aide without a second thought. Using what momentum she had, the barmaid brawler was able to land a fatal somersault kick, the strength behind the lethal movement forced the dead creature to fall elsewhere out of harms way.

Crimson eyes followed every twist of her agile limbs. It was indeed, as cliché as it sounded, poetry in motion. And Vincent had always appreciated a verse or two.

Perhaps her culinary and bartending skills helped add to the mask that had many fooled that she was some helpless waif. Using those of which she knew, perhaps passed on from loving parents or studied from cook books, Vincent had always welcomed the plate that was usually presented by Tifa.

He would toss her an aloof stare that would seem to hold her own hostage before turning away, muttering a thanks beneath his breath. From what he remembered, Tifa would modestly say she was still learning after Cid would comment something like "Oh !#$ yeah! This hits the !#$ing spot! Oh yeah, Gimme mah tea."

Vincent, thankfully, was able to suppress the chuckle that fought to escape his smiling lips. How odd. However, that hidden smile slowly faded when his thoughts traveled to a more usual melancholy realm.

Cloud, Tifa, and Aeris.

The love triangle no one had the gall to mention. There would be telling looks of some fashion. It was such an absolutely taboo subject.

Perhaps this was why he held so much empathy for the girl. The awkwardness of it all had forced Vincent to remember his last steps as a normal mortal man. All too often he saw his past self in the girl in the way Tifa would act around the two. Her eyes would lose their usual brilliance and her smile would grow fake.

Watching the three torture each other aggravated him the most. It was this passiveness that had proved his fatal mistake before waiting too late to take things into his bloodied hands. He didn't care for the bitter taste that was left in his mouth watching them.

But... he had been surprised by Tifa's actions during all that. Instead of falling from grace she forced herself to stay on level. She had never been found moping, feeling sorry for herself, etc. No, not Tifa. He was pleasantly surprised by her tenacity to try and keep herself focused on whatever task she had at hand.

When those troubles were especially trying, she would stay up late at night with him. It was during these late night sessions that she would confide her thoughts to Vincent. With each soft word spoken she slowly allowed him inside, such a trivial act and all of them had meant the world to him. She treated him like an equal and he respected her greatly for it.

Later those nights continued on after Aeris had been brutally slain, something Vincent was selfishly thankful for...

"Here I go making you a drink and all you can do is stare off into space." Vincent fought back the urge to roll his eyes as he regarded the bartender. Her lips were puckered into a large pout, the woman playfully feigning her disappointment. He hated having his thoughts interrupted.

"I was _thinking_," the glare and his terse words did little to force the barmaid to cower and hide like he had hoped.

"Don't be like that handsome," The bartender rested her face in her palms as she leaned against the counter much to the gunman's chagrin. "Aren't you going to have a teeny tiny sip?"

Vincent gladly shoved his gaze into the contents of his full mug. If it will let you leave me alone then all the better... A hand surfaced to unclasp the leather buckles of his collar allowing the folds to fall open, ignoring the slight intake of breathe from the irritating woman.

His dark lashes fanned against his pale skin as he raised the mug to his parched mouth. Vincent couldn't help but wonder at the anticipation he felt as the liquid began to seep between parted lips. What is hard and sweet...

The shiver violently ran along the curve of his spine, his shoulders shaking, his throat burning and eyes closed shut. The bartender leaned in closer, waiting with bated breath to hear the final verdict on her latest concoction.

Ever so slowly, the lids of his eyes parted causing the tears that had built up to fall along the curve of his cheek. He sat there, blinking absently while trying to steady his breath. He dared to look up, the man's eyes full of wariness, at the bartender who seemed to be eagerly waiting for something or another.

"So... how was it? You can lay it to me straight." Her words were laced with a smug confidence.

It was alarming the number of words that sprang to mind, each one fighting inside his weary mind to be chosen to describe the full power of what the bartender deemed her greatest creation. Certainly such a powerful and wonderful drink that it had moved the usually aloof man to quiet tears. Lay it to her straight? Well Vincent Valentine wasn't one to disappoint the ladies...

He carefully leaned forward, allowing the eloquent whisper to teasingly tickle her ear with such trembling breath, unmistakably a sign he was still recovering from such a fine masterpiece.

"_Terrible_."


	3. Chapter 2: Slip of the Tongue

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or the characters that may or may not appear in this story. These belong to Square-Enix and them alone.

Author's Note: I am more or less pleasantly surprised by the warm reception this particular story has received. :) It seriously is something to bring a smile to my face to read the kind comments you are far too kind to leave. It really makes the time to write all the more worth it knowing that someone out there in the vast internet enjoyed what my tired cranium cranked out. Sorry it took so long:( Life has been incredibly busy only allowing a sentence here and there to be added and months at a time no less! Anyways I do hope you all enjoy this chapter! Big thanks for Savvy for helping me through this ordeal. You are my rock:D I heart you long time.

**Places of Origin**

By Lady Winde

**Chapter Two: Slip of the Tongue**

_Damned if you do, damned if you don't, and double damned if you screw it up._

Sharp crimson eyes scanned the bustling townscape of Kalm, his aching muscles slightly flexing now and then to keep his blood circulation flowing lest he start to feel to tell tale prickling of numbness that was sure to follow from his uncomfortable position on his chosen perch.

The slight sting across his cheek was easily ignored, having endured far worse unimaginable torture than the trivial sensation that would flare to life now and again each time a gentle breeze wished to caress his face. Still, he couldn't help but feel particularly appreciative of the _kind_ proprietor of "The Dirty Hammock."

She hadn't taken too kindly to the honest critique of her experimenting with the odd mixture of various liquors, although in all fairness he had made it clear with two dark words he had only wanted what he so vaguely ordered. It was only just to tell her how it was and he certainly had no qualms about it since she insisted that he "lay it to her straight."

Her reaction had been both swift and telling.

He had wondered if she felt any sort of trepidation as he glared at her through his sidelong glance with narrowed eyes, scarlet irises far too kind to show just how dangerously far she had crossed that hidden line of Vincent's own meticulous rule of "Don't touch me." Vincent couldn't remember how long his face had stayed ever so still in that one position, a result from the force of the slap the barmaid had been ever so kind to grace him with, as he watched her worthless resolve slowly crumble piece by piece beneath his unrelenting steel-like stare.

At the very least he was able to get a description of Tifa's house out of her, though directions would have been far more preferable but at the slightest it _had_ been something. Still, it probably all could have been avoided if he had simply kept to his gentlemanly manners, forcing his reliable mouth to utter words other than the truth that liked to force its way out of his mouth from time to time, although in all seriousness he knew that his latest slip of the tongue was far from some simple idiotic blurt. She asked and as he had so thought, he wasn't going to deny her the simple wish of what he thought of her poorly concocted drink.

As he sat a top the steep rooftop, as still as an eroding stone gargoyle keeping watch of its unwary wards below, he couldn't help but muse about, as per usual, the past; specifically what dealt with those certain events that most likely could have had some kind of favorable outcome, especially those relevant with a most crucial detail: keeping his ever pliant mouth closed.

So his wayward thoughts precariously trickled to a most important mistake. Vincent remembered the feeling of anxious anticipation as he patiently waited outside the calm courtyard that lay outside the towering mansion behind him. How the black velvet box felt within the hand that held it, his hand that was beginning to feel slick with sweat thanks to the effects of his alien nervousness.

All the naïve promises of true love and happiness had been contained and forever infused into that simple golden band, the promise of happily ever-after delicately symbolized within the simple diamond that adorned that precious piece of jewelry.

How completely unexpected things had turned out.

Instead of a woman, overjoyed, rushing to embrace her one true love, gifting his face with happy tears and kisses with a breathy whisper of acceptance, all the little telltale things he needed to know what her answer had been, these diminutive effects that belied a hint of the true happiness that awaited them, he had _instead_ a woman who left him to his shattered thoughts. A woman who had utterly _refused_ him and ran into the arms of another.

Upon his perch atop the slanted roof he couldn't help the thoughtful look that graced his tranquil features as he remembered how each step of her heeled shoes sounded upon cobbled stone and cut grass as she fled to who knows where although he certainly knew who.

At the very least she was compassionate and gracious enough to let him keep the damned ring.

And how could he ever forget his choice to, _at last_, finally step up to that wretched being of a man that stole what he had thought was his one shot at his own happiness, the peculiar man that tainted that misguided woman with those unthinkable experiments heaven knows what was doing to_ their_ child, the babe created from the unthinkable _coupling_ of Hojo and Lucrecia, that innocently continued to mature inside that woman's defiled womb.

How valiant, how noble he felt thinking that if he couldn't have her, the least he could do was be the honorable man that Hojo could never be: the man that would be her savior, her knight that would save her and that ill-fated child.

With the grace and stealth of a panther on the prowl, taking care to not make even the subtle hint of sound lest his prey find him out, he made his way through dank tunnel to emerge into disheveled laboratory. Oh how those daring words flew from his bold mouth with his finger holding steady to the trigger within his pocket.

Then he remembered how so much he wanted to laugh as he sank to the floor, blood soaked hand clutching to his chest as the gloating scientist towered above him with madness gleaming behind spectacled eyes.

How could he have known Hojo was such a lucky shot? But then... it's not like he moved when that twisted scientist's pistol suddenly appeared, gleaming in the light... There had been more than enough time...

A hint of a groan rumbled in his throat as he finally decided to let one of his legs dangle over the side of the tall house he had occupied as his stake out. With a tilt of his head and weary eyes did he continue to seek out his destination, although with the way his thoughts were now he may as well set up camp, hoping the family that resided within would do well to ignore him and let him carry on in his own strange way.

So what of the times where he could have said something to change the ultimate course of destiny? To persuade which way the wheel was destined to turn?

He could remember the newly built headquarters of Shinra Inc., the tower of a building at the center of it all. Midgar, the metropolis of new beginnings that offered enticing promises of a brighter and safer future. There he had been sitting at his polished desk in his office, the lights curiously turned off, listening to the pitter patter of rain and clapping thunder outside, watching the walls intently as the dancing shadows played along the angles of the room. He remembered how annoyed he was when his ever excitable partner came rushing in, a folder in hand no doubt with instructions for another precarious mission that was to be carried out.

How thrilling.

Vincent had been in a sour mood that entire length of day, for reasons he couldn't really remember, it being a life time ago, he wanted to forget and dwell in the providing den of shadow protected from everything as he always did when something was on his mind. He couldn't forget how much his instinctive gut had been screaming for him to decline it. He had been high enough in the chain of command to do such things. He _had_ the power of choice.

Then.

That of course led to another event that was laid before him ever so neatly, something he could have easily stepped over without ever looking back and never knowing just how that decision would have saved him so much heartache and unneeded pain.

He had arrived at the steps of Nibelheim. He couldn't shake the sense of foreboding he had felt since eyeing the folder that was ever so neatly placed in his hands. If only he had known that _that_ place, _that_ town, would be the keeper of his entombed and comatose body for three long decades. Ever the professional, he paid his cab fare and walked toward what would soon be the start of his falling destiny.

There had been a woman waiting outside the well kept mansion, he remembered how her piles of luggage were neatly placed beside the large wooden doors as she stood there with a helpless look upon her face as she regarded all that she had brought.

How cruel was fate to deposit him there as if he was the one destined to be this siren's bell boy ready to follow her every whim at beck and call.

He was left breathless, sweaty. His well starched suit, wrinkled. The ordeal of carrying her luggage had been hardly worth all that effort. As he leaned against the painted wall of her room to recover from his favor he could feel her eyes upon him. And then there it was again. That uneasiness that had occupied his very being when he opened the folder to the mission, when he stepped outside his cab with the menacing mansion waiting to devour him, and then... there at that very moment it weighed heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Get out. Leave her be and carry on your way. Such feelings of foreboding and he knew ignoring it the first time was something that could have proven to be his undoing as a Turk. But when such a feeling came from being in the mere presence of a woman? And in crashing waves no less! Such instincts had to be followed, had to be obeyed to ensure survival.

"Thank you so much for all your help... Say would you like to join me at the café they have in town? Hmm? Don't be shy... It'll be my treat."

What a weak and pitiful excuse of a man he had suddenly become.

A look of hope flashed across his face as he finally found the house he had been searching for. The unexpected discovery was enough in itself to shake him from his usual lapses down memory lane. There was a feeling of hope within his step, a sense of confidence within his gait.

Another step closer to finally reacquainting himself with Tifa Lockhart.

He really had missed her. Not in the romantic sense. Vincent had truly missed his friend and the thought that he would be able to see her again was very encouraging? No, that wasn't it. Something he couldn't place put into words.

The smile that briefly played upon his lips reveled in pleasant thoughts of their upcoming reunion.

A recollection recently played within those old reminiscences, pleasant as always when dealing with her. Something of the sort he more than once relived since that precious moment, to a night he knew words whether in absence or declaration held no manner of weight much to his delighted pleasure.

oOoOoOoOo

The solitary figure of a man sat along the wide edge of the window, his left arm casually draped against the pedestal of his raised knee, metal talons lazily curled barely touching the pad of his palm. His crimson cloak-draped shoulders were relaxed against the support the frame of the window had to offer. The lone man's seemingly uninterested gaze took in the scenery below through half lidded eyes.

Bright lights of every color imaginable cheerfully lit the way for many a jubilant tourist who all seemed so ignorant and oblivious to the fact that in a week or two their world would become no more. Was that how they were going to deal with the impending doom that literally was hanging over their heads? So many people gathered about, celebrating what they had left of life at the well established Golden Saucer?

Vincent could only manage to huff in slight disdain. What would he have chosen had he the power too? Spend his final moments with a loved one? He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that thought. Cruel white light suddenly engulfed him, he couldn't help but wince at the sudden assault on his vision, his usual detached expression turning into a hateful scowl as he quickly covered his face with his tattered cloak.

As the cruel spotlight descended back whence it came, ever so slowly did the blood hued fabric rescind to the point that only crimson eyes were allowed permission to peer out over the scene again, to observe those around him as he often did. Despite the festivities beneath his stoic gaze he couldn't help but wonder of the... dense weight that seemed to cling so desperately to the air.

Tomorrow they would head over to the lost ruins of the Cetra, the legendary temple of the Ancients.

With a sigh that escaped parted lips, his forehead gently pressed against the reinforced glass allowing a small part of his cheek to kiss the smooth surface. How long would it be till they were able to defeat that woman's child? His eyes grew dark. How different would Sephiroth have been had he known who his real mother was?

Before his thoughts could delve beyond that initial thought, a gentle knock echoed throughout the silent room. He was more than thankful that Cloud had decided to answer it. He had no desire to move himself from where he was relaxed.

The familiar lilting voice filled the air while Cloud's own mumbling words followed. He continued to ignore their uninteresting jabber, by the sounds of the girlish teasing and odd silence here and there that they certainly weren't continuing the solemn topic of tomorrow's mission earlier that eve.

With a side long glance he caught sight of the flower girl, a slight blush playing upon her cheeks as she grabbed for the pretender SOLDIER's hand. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took notice of how intimate they seemed as they exited the room. As the door was gently shut, his attention returned to the window, his distant gaze lifting to the ever twinkling stars above.

He couldn't help but feel some sort of empathy for Tifa.

Another gentle tapping echoed through out the silent room, a feeling of uneasiness came over him. Perhaps it was RED XIII wanting to discuss his own set of worries regarding their journey thus far and perhaps even his hopes and dreams for the future, he even dared hope that it was Cid, and reaching further into his despondent thoughts, Yuffie.

When he heard the voice behind the door, Vincent couldn't help but shake the waves of disappointment that washed over him.

"The door is open..."

If the slow creaking of the door was but a symbol of her insecurity than the slight tremble to her voice was a blazing sign. He continued to hold his concentrated stare outside, hoping she wouldn't ask that which he knew she was most likely to. "Ah... Hmm. Cloud's not around? I thought he said he was going to be resting here tonight."

His eyes lowered to the ground below, watching pink and blue wander around hand in hand. Curiously watching how they laughed, watching how utterly... happy they both seemed; completely unaware and uncaring that someone from their group was watching them. He wished Cloud would just let her know where he stood and how he felt and stopped giving her such false hope. How he hated these mind games people played.

"Cloud is down below."

"You mean he's having fun without us?" She was probably shaking her head in dismay as a silent sigh escaped her lips, Vincent could only merely speculate as his gaze lingered upon the pair below. "Well thanks for the information. I better go fi—."

"You won't want to find him." He held her down with a side long impassive stare, watching her thoughts at work. There was no doubt in his mind that there was a similar reason to Aeris' visit for Tifa to be here. The tell tale signs of hope fading fast from what had been a cheerful face began to take shape; her stare leaving his unreadable gaze to find sympathetic sanctuary with the carpet beneath her steel toed boots. A gloved hand pushed back the hair that fell over her shoulder as she slouched; brown eyes trembled as they continued to make a detailed study of her shoelaces.

It was as if time chose to stand still just for her as she took the news in, he mused. How different she seemed from sparse moments before. He made a detailed study of her face, watching the mask, one she had become so accustomed to wear, slowly build it self piece by piece. Her false smile was daintily painted upon her lips, her cinnamon gaze continued to avoid Vincent's. He could feel her defeat emanating from her in shallow waves; this was a look and a feeling he had worn so many times as he looked at his reflection in mirrors so many years ago.

How it didn't suit her.

Not at her age.

Then it came, barely above a whisper the trembling words did their best to remain steady as they fled parted lips, "I see..." She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back on her heels as she continued to avert her eyes from his. A pang of regret pulsed inside his chest as his brow furrowed slightly. She had all her hopes hanging on this moment, whatever it was she wanted to tell Cloud he could guess... no he _knew_ they meant the world to her and in that instant he was taken back to the courtyard with velvet box in hand.

He was not Cloud. He could not give her what she wanted nor would he say what she wanted to hear. He could tell her what everyone else knew, say the words that Cloud hadn't the courage to say but for what? Those were words that _had_ to be told by none other than a man he knew was destined to kill Sephiroth. It was simply not his place. Nor did he have any desire to do so.

No he was not Cloud Strife. He quickly unlocked the large window with a metal talon, pushing the panes of glass open. The wind pushed itself within as soon as the glass was parted, hair and cloak whipped about. He was Vincent Valentine. He would give what he could though he wasn't entirely sure what it was he had to meagerly offer lest of all if Tifa would want whatever was presented but if he could take her mind off of her heart's desire he could in the very least attempt to try.

She was alone.

He was alone.

Both so terribly alone.

"Tifa." His stoic voice rose above the joyous sounds of cheerful music and people happily chattering and laughing that resonated within the room from below, "Stop." As the young woman slowly pivoted upon her heel, he took that moment to descend from his window sill perch. With his cape completely free it fluttered about more violently, perhaps making him appear more intimidating than usual.

He wasn't sure nor did he care.

A gloved hand emerged from within the morphing red mass, reaching out towards the young hesitant woman with outstretched fingers. _Take it_ was the implied statement, a statement that silently waited to be acknowledged until he finally caught her curious stare. She was unsure that much he could tell and he supposed that much was all that could be expected. It wasn't often he went out of his way to make contact with his peers let alone instigate such actions.

It seemed all that Tifa could do was stare inquisitively at his hand, her mouth trying to form some sort of response. Would it be no? Yes? Whatever the case, Vincent knew she was stalling. Perhaps forming some sort of excuse so she could be alone with her thoughts.

Not tonight.

There could be no room for protest, "I simply wish for your company."

Before he could receive any response, he took her hand and gently tugged at the captive appendage, signaling her to follow his lead. A ghost of a smile graced his lips at her complete acceptance. Tonight would be theirs, a night for reflecting, a night for the pleasantly melancholic.

With a steady gait he led her through the window; never lessening his hold on her hand should she lose her footing and fall below. A thought he certainly did not wish to entertain.

Many a color of balloons drifted past them as they walked along the roof, a crescendo of cheers and applaud erupted as music began to play, the festivities were beginning to kick off for enchantment night it seemed.

"Where are we going?" There was no longer sadness etched within her voice, only genuine curiosity and at that fact Vincent couldn't help but feel quite pleased with himself.

Scanning the hotel's rooftop with meticulous care he spotted a vacant balcony not too far off, perhaps belonging to a special suite. With the celebrations in full effect he was more than sure that their trespass would be missed. With a tilt of his head he coolly regarded her through the corner of his eye. "Not far. Some place safer to sit."

He returned his attentions ahead not waiting to see what her reaction would be as they continued along the edge. No words were exchanged as they made the rest of the way to the chosen balcony. Not that he minded.

When at last he reached the balcony's rail he pressed himself against the hotel's walls allowing enough room to pull Tifa ahead of him. He masked his slight discomfort as her voluptuous form slid against his own as she made her way to the balcony. It seemed even Hojo's experiments couldn't erase all of his humanity: he was still but a base, base creature called a man at the core of it all.

A base creature indeed, but always and foremost a gentleman, "Ladies first..." The gentle tug upon the corner of her lips didn't go unnoticed as she slid against his rigid form to climb over into the gloomy balcony. Yes, he was very pleased indeed.

Carefully he stepped over the black marble rail, taking note of the gothic atmosphere the balcony had to offer. They certainly knew how to keep with the horror theme, he briefly thought as the gunman eyed the wilted rose bushes that lined along the rails in large unkempt antique urns. Upon closer inspection it appeared the plants hadn't even been watered in ages. Taking but a moment to look at the windows behind the fidgeting Tifa, one could see that the tattered drapes were in desperate need of changing and dusting for that matter...

Horror theme... or just plain lazy?

With a few precise steps, the cold metal of his ebony leather boots lightly clicking against the cool hard surface of the black marble, Vincent neatly fell into his usual sitting position with the agile grace of a trained assassin. The sudden momentum of it all sent crimson fabric fluttering every which way, tossing silken sable strands of hair to cradle visible portions of glowing porcelain skin. Beneath scarlet bandana, unreadable blood hued eyes held captive the unsure gaze of Tifa Lockhart.

With but a subtle glance over the young woman, he could read her like the open book she was; her eyes told him she was uncomfortable, the metal toe of her work boot trying to dig its way into the floor of the balcony told him she was nervous, and the slight slouch of her shoulders told him that she was unsure if not self-doubting. Overall there was the slight melancholy that she was valiantly trying to hide. But he knew...

The leather clad pads of his fingertips tapped the area beside him as he tilted his head to the heavens, "One finds it easier to gaze upon the stars when sitting... but if you prefer to stand then by all means..." A non committal shrug was sent the young woman's way as Vincent continued to hold her attention prisoner.

She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she let out a deep shaking sigh, "I'm sorry, Vincent," he took note of the slight tremble in words, "today's just been one of those days." Tifa ungracefully plopped herself next to the ex-Turk, tightly cradling her legs to her chest. "If it's not one thing it's another, you know?" Vincent silently nodded as he leaned back on his gloved hand, not wanting to point out the half truths in her statements.

Painted across the moonless nightscape, the twinkling stars of many a color gallantly held their ground, unmoving, in the arrogant presence of the crimson meteor. Vincent couldn't help but feel the hypnotizing effects that took him over as they usually did when he took the time to look to skies, a sense of calmness yet foreboding... He could almost feel the gentle tug against his soul urging for him to fall into twilight void... All it would seem to take was but a gentle push...

A slight tremble to his right quickly put a halt to the siren's call, his crimson eyes dilating as ebony lashes fluttered. The gunman looked to the shivering woman resting beside him, feeling a little remorse for dragging her all the way out into the open air and improperly clothed to face the cruel torment of the night wind. He offered his cloak, the genteel gesture it seemed she was more than happy to take.

As she draped the thick fabric over her legs, taking great comfort in the warmth it had to provide, Tifa at last took the time to speak, "You said... you wanted my company back there. Any reason why?"

A night for the melancholic...

He continued to look up into the stars, wind shifting his hair to and fro, "I didn't wish to be alone tonight."

Silence.

"You get lonely too..." A whisper of a suggestion fleeing her lips, speaking her thoughts he merely assumed.

He could only shrug his shoulders in response. It had all been a whim really, feeling empathy for someone stumbling down an all too familiar path. Vincent could feel her eyes upon him as his gaze stayed ever upward. Perhaps she was hoping to read his thoughts with what she had available. Crimson eyes were all that were visible and even from where she was sitting she couldn't hope to read any sort of emotion within, not that any person could try and interpret his empty dejected stare.

"Vincent? A-are you happy?"

Happiness. So fleeting. His gaze slowly turned sidelong as he finally chose to regard her, ebony locks shifting along the wind. "There's too much... weight." He paused unsure, "It has been there... pressing not allowing much room for much emotion..." _Not that I could remember what happiness feels like to begin with..._ a thought he decided to keep only to himself. "But as long as others are content that is enough..."

A thoughtful expression painted Tifa's features as she nodded her head in contemplation, her silver earrings dangling with the slight movement, "I... think, I think I understand."

Did she now? He couldn't help but wonder what would weigh so heavy on her conscience.

"Let's make a wish." She abruptly jumped to her feet and ran to the balcony's edge, spinning on her heels to face the curiously cloaked man. "Pick a star and just make one. One for you, one for me, and hey how about one for each other, okay?"

He couldn't help but regard her inquisitively. Was this the very same woman that was wallowing in self defeat just short moments before? Her brown eyes held a dazzling spark all their own, her lips thinly pressed together in impulsive determination, her chest heaving with deep breathes from the swift movements, gloved hands gripping the rail of the balcony till her knuckles became white.

How curious indeed.

"A wish," Vincent nodded his head in agreement. A genuine smile sweetly blossomed upon her lips, a sudden bounce to her spin as she regarded the night sky with her full attention, perhaps scanning the heavens until she found her perfect wishing star.

He couldn't help but feel a tug of amusement at her sudden enthusiasm.

"Ohh... I found a nice white star..." She bowed her head and clasped her hands, or so he thought from his sitting position. "I wish... that Vincent Valentine will find his happiness..." She turned back and graced him with a timid smile, "even if he can be a little intimidating for happiness to find him."

He rose an eyebrow at the last remark, "Do I scare you?" It was a simple enough question.

"No, no. I didn't say scare." She playfully wagged a finger at him as she made her way back to her seat. "You're pretty intense though... as if every moment is THE moment. It's uh..." She gave a rueful grin as she leaned back on her elbows, legs outstretched, "hard to explain." Tifa pointed onward to the sky, "Your turn, Mr. Valentine."

Slowly trailing the length of her arm did his silent gaze meet the familiar blanket of glittering stars. Searching, searching for a star that held a luminance all its own. A wistful look washed over his features as his vision finally caught sight of a ruby red star, "A star set with ruby brilliance..."

"Sounds pretty..."

"I wish..." How unfamiliar and odd it was to hear such words leave his lips. His thoughts turned to that of Cloud. It wasn't his place to state what he knew she needed to hear. His mind stumbled through variant what ifs and what nots till finally... _I wish that Tifa won't make the same mistakes I made when the one I loved, the one I cherished loved another. _"I wish that Miss Lockhart may find her happiness... where ever she may find it."

Her brows knotted together as she shot him an annoyed look an expression that slowly transformed into a soft smile as her gaze slowly lifted to the heavens, "That's cheating I hope you know." Vincent merely shrugged.

In that very instant the skies themselves chose to finally come alive with explosive dazzling colors. Tifa's lips slightly parted as she looked on with breathless awe as the expensive show of fireworks continued, completely unaware that beside her the lone gunman took that time to study the oblivious woman instead.

It was certainly something to watch how serene and bright her face had become, how the shadows that graced her face would suddenly disappear when the colored lights would explode into the night sky allowing him a perfect glimpse of a painter's masterpiece in his mind's eye. How enraptured she looked...

He could almost smile at the sight. Almost.

oOoOoOoOo

As his feet landed with catlike precision upon shingled roof did he once again launch himself into the sunlit sky, his scarlet cloak trailing behind him, deep crimson flames flickering in the breeze, as he continued to jump from rooftop to rooftop. The faintest of smiles was etched upon his dry lips, an after effect of the pleasant memories just a few weeks shy of a year old. Not that he had been keeping track... How he wished he could have brought himself to smile that night; a night when two lonely souls were at peace stargazing what seemed such a short time ago.

Thinking back that night of fireworks and stargazing he couldn't help but feel the slight warmth that tenderly embraced. How alien it felt and all too familiar at once... The glacier... That thick wall of ice ever since the ashen embers of that house burned down to the ground... the chains that encased his heart, the coffin that entombed his soul... somehow everything was set free.

Such a small sign this warmth that enveloped him, the small smile that graced his lips. What else, his racing thoughts wondered as he was another house closer to his destination. Was he returning to his old self, a young man full of promise, confidence, pride...?

In some ways he couldn't help but feel relieved at the thought however what if say he was returning to old ancient form...What started this process? The burning of the Shinra Mansion. All signs pointed to that one single event.

He never took much to riding Chocobos and he had but ridden one through out his travels when he had usually preferred to walk, taking the scenery in one step at a time. Then his sudden urge to visit his comrade in arms. Why go through such the trouble? Stoic beasts need not visit friends. They could take care of themselves; that much he was more than sure of.

Then, of course... how lately his thoughts had been turning towards that of Miss Tifa Lockhart. Someone he hadn't seen since they departed from the Highwind after the battle that decided the fate of the entire world. Someone he hadn't chosen to visit up until now. He could easily recognize the long forgotten anxiety he was feeling regarding their reunion.

He viciously fought the anxiety down as he landed ever so neatly before her two story home.

Vincent took a moment, making a detailed study of her door's knocker before taking the metal piece in gloved hand and deciding to finally make use of it. Just as contact was made, he froze. Froze not because he was suddenly overcome with adolescent fear, not because he had a sudden change of heart but... there it was again!

He crept along the brick walls of her home, stepping over plant and gardening tool, slowly making his way toward the backyard where he was more than sure he had heard a feminine yelp. Vincent instinctively crouched low, making certain to hold his breathe lest he give away his position.

As he peered over the wooden gate his eyes quickly found what he had been looking for. Though now he feared he wasn't able to look away.

With another yell Tifa kicked at the practice dummy, the impact shaking the moisture from her sweat slick form. Her damp hair was falling out of its hair tie and he couldn't help but take note of the dark wet strands that clung so helplessly to the curve of her flushed cheek, the length of her neck... how strained the material was that held bountiful...

He had to force himself to close his eyes, reminding himself briefly he was a gentleman when his gaze took abrupt notice of her poor choice of color pertaining to sports bras. Didn't she realize just how drenched in sweat she was?

A shaky exhale later, his crimson eyes found themselves opened taking notice of the scandalous material that hugged her hips. Black shorts... if they could be called such things. A miniskirt he had been able to handle back then, but the flesh that showed... His eyes continued to betray him as they trailed down to her shapely legs, following their every movement as if he were merely entranced.

With eyes tightly shut he forced his stiff body to turn around, not taking a chance to stare even more and risk the title of voyeur, something he hadn't even meant to risk. This wasn't how he thought he'd see her when they met up again.

Barely covered, slick with sweat...

The images that raced through his mind were alien at best. It was completely mind boggling. This wasn't how he had thought he'd ever feel... again. If there were tell tale signs that he was losing that self of aloofness from being entombed for thirty years then this was a flaming bonfire that was about to touch the heavens themselves!

This was so unlike him. He was _not_ some adolescent to be commanded by blossoming hormones and emotions long lost. He was Vincent Valentine, the ex-Turk marksman, second to none, known for his legendary stoic and cold behavior. With that thought he stood up, shoulders squared and straight as he pivoted around to courageously face the current tormentor of his troubled thoughts.

There she stood, unaware, back facing him as a long towel was draped over her shoulders. One gloved hand gently patted the nape of her neck while the other held a large plastic water bottle. Vincent couldn't help but watch as she tilted her head back wearing an expression one could only guess was ecstasy as she squeezed the contents of the bottle over her head.

Vincent's form went rigid in mid-step as his eyes viciously sought to trace each and every droplet of water that trickled down her form. Brow furrowed at how easily and uncharacteristically he had become distracted, he pushed open the gate and made his way toward her.

"Tifa." He gave a mental nod of approval. At least his voice hadn't betrayed him to show such emotion or any amount of turmoil he may have been feeling at the moment.

She looked back, the dreamy expression still fresh on her face when her eyes doubled in size. With a shaky breath she dropped the water bottle, spilling the rest of the contents around her as she took in the sight before her.

"You!" Tifa threw a scowl Vincent's way as she hugged her towel close to her chest, something the gunman was more than thankful for. "You have _got_ break that habit of sneaking up on people!" As she shook her head, wispy tendrils shook here and there, a droplet of water falling to the ground...

Vincent's gaze stayed fastened to Tifa's brow, afraid his eyes would suddenly become wayward... "You made a promise when we first met... back in Rocket Town... I've come to collect on that promise, Miss Lockhart." The drink... That bartender has good reason to be jealous of you...

A look of confusion washed over the young woman's features, an action that made her slightly lower the towel. An action that had Vincent on the verge of forcefully draping the towel over her shoulders so she never worry of it falling and exposing what lay underneath ever again. "A promise?"

"The drink, Tifa..." Feeling more confident, Vincent took a step forward while determined crimson held captive cinnamon prisoner, "How you promised you would make me hard and sweat."

Oh sweet heavens above me...

"Oh yeah! Wait... what?"


End file.
